folie à deux
by Ivory Muse
Summary: He will never forgive Ozai for so much, and the hollow numbness that replaced a knifesharp mind is near the top of the list.


He goes to see Azula for the first time in a year.

It's not a kind place, her island— the sea is grey and harsh, the coast surrounded by perilous rocks. He does not wish to be cruel to his sister, despite how she would have likely treated him if their roles were reversed, but he wants her in isolation, far from any potential conspirators. The idealistic part of him hopes that she will find some peace here; the cynical, that even if she manages escape in her weakened state, she will die before she ever reaches the Caldera.

He dressed as a commoner before he left and arrives, against all advice, without attendants, but the dark hood pulled over his face does little to conceal his massive scar. The orderlies whisper amongst themselves as they lead him to an underground area— he scowls as he observes the rows of identical cells. "What is she doing down here?" he asks irritably, worriedly. He isn't paying seventy gold pieces a month for her to be locked up like an animal.

They exchange worried looks, and he feels a pang of shame— he knows how intimidating he must sound to them. "She used to be kept in a nicer tower room," one ventures, "but the princess flies into terrible rages. It's safer if she's restrained around the clock, with higher security... so she doesn't injure herself or break things, your majesty."

He nods, wondering just how much her mental health has deteriorated, as they reach a thick door with a guard on each side. Half an hour, he's told, before she needs more sedatives and he needs to make an exit.

The first thing that hits him when he enters is the bone-chilling cold, slowing his chi to a sluggish stop; it's a blindingly white room, and Azula is chained to a low bed in the corner. He's shocked by how defeated she's become in a year's time— tangled, choppy hair, bruises on her wrists, asylum-issue tunic and pants blending into the padded walls. She does not look at him as he enters, but continues staring straight up at the ceiling.

"Zula?" he quietly starts. She turns towards him, her eyes empty and unseeing. "Do you remember me? I'm Zuko. Your brother."

Silence. He sits on the floor, beside her. "I hope they're treating you okay— this was the best place I could find. If you didn't try to hurt yourself, you wouldn't even be in a cell."

He reaches over to sweep some hair off her face, but she flinches so violently that he moves back. "I'mnot going to hurt you," he whispers. "Your doctor wrote and told me that you're getting worse. Nobody can figure out what to do with you, Zula. The Earth Kingdom only took you off the war crimes tribunal because you're crazy. It's better if you don't recover. Easier."

Zuko sighs, and looks down at his hands. There are so many things he wants to say to her, most of them less than pleasant, but arguing with Azula now is like arguing with a wounded rabbit-kitten. "I can't just let you rot here, though. You're my sister, even if you pretend otherwise. Mom... Mom wouldn't have wanted this."

"Liar," Azula says suddenly, making him jump at the sound of her hoarse voice, and laughs as if there's a spoon scraping against her throat. "You're such a liar, Zuzu. Mother's always loved you best. This iswhat she wants— her precious son on the throne and her monster daughter in irons."

"That's not true," he protests, but he's lying and she can tell. Azula is too much for anyone to love— too sadistic, too demanding, too inconstant. Whatever humanity she once had, their father has long since stripped her of it. "And Mother's probably dead, you know."

"A liar and an idiot," Azula snarls; the rapid swing from mockery into fury takes him aback. "She's right here, dum-dum. She won't leave. Can't you tell her to leave me alone, brother? You're her favorite— she'll listen to you. Please? Please?"

Her eyes have glazed over again, and that's when he realizes that there is nothing left inside of her; she's trapped in her wasteland of a head, sparring with shades and ghosts. The fire went out a long time ago.

(He will never forgive Ozai for so much, and the hollow numbness that replaced a knifesharp mind is near the top of the list.)

He's back on his feet— if she has anything else to say, he no longer has the heart to coax it out of her. "I get it now," he says before he pushes the door open. "Why you went insane. I thought that I was stronger than you, but I guess I was wrong. The throne drives everyone mad."

"Your majesty?" an orderly hesitantly asks as he emerges, noticing his ashen pallor. "Are you... all right?"

"Make sure she has a haircut," he says, shaking his head.


End file.
